He led the way and I followed, rebellious, and angry, not so much with him as with myself. I wished now that I had gone over to the Colton place when I first received the summons to court, instead of making proclamations of defiance to mother and Lute Rogers. This seemed such a complete backdown. As we passed the house I saw Lute peering from the barn. I devoutly hoped he might not see me, but he did. His mouth opened and he stared. Then, catching my eye, he winked triumphantly. I wanted to punch his head. The King of New York walked briskly on in silence until we were just at the edge of the grove by the Shore Lane. Then he stopped and turned to me. “You own all this land, don't you?” he asked. “Yes.” “Humph! Get a good view from here.” I admitted that the view was good. At that particular point it embraced nearly the whole of the bay in front, and a large portion of the village at the side. He waved his hand toward the cluster of houses. “There are eighteen hundred people in this town, they tell me,” he said. “Permanent residents, I mean. What do they all do?” “Do?” “Yes. How do they get a living? They must get it somehow. In the regular summer resorts they squeeze it out of the city people, I know that. But there aren't so many cottagers and boarders here. What do you all do for a living?” I told him that most of masculine Denboro fished or farmed or kept store. “Which do you do?” he asked. “You said you weren't a boat-builder.” “I'm not doing anything at present,” I replied, shortly. “Out of a job?” “You might call it that. Is this a part of the business you wished to see me about, Mr. Colton?” I was boiling inwardly and a little of the heat was expressed in my tone. I don't know whether he took the hint or merely lost interest in the subject. At any rate his reply was a brief “No,” and we continued our walk. As we reached the Shore Lane he paused again, and I thought he was about to speak. He did not, however, and we crossed the boundary line of my property and entered the Colton grounds. As we drew nearer to the house I was surprised to see how large it was. When the Atwaters owned it I was an occasional caller there, for old Major Atwater was fond of shooting and sometimes borrowed my decoys. But, since it changed hands, I had not been nearer to it than the Lane. With the new wing and the other additions it was enormous. It fairly reeked of money, though, so far as I was a judge, the taste shown in rebuilding and decorating was good. We turned the corner, where Asa Peters, the head carpenter, came hurrying up. Asa looked surprised enough to see me in company with his employer and regarded me wonderingly. “Mr. Colton,” he said, “I wanted to ask you about them skylights.” I stepped back out of hearing, but I inferred from Colton's actions that the question was another one of the “unnecessary” ones he had so scornfully referred to in the boathouse.